


Just for Attention

by Kurohebi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Cutting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurohebi/pseuds/Kurohebi
Summary: Can a family lunch go smoothly? Surely not in my family. Especially if the topic goes to something really diversive. And the only one who has a different opinion is, who else than...me!Feels too dramatic for summary? Believe me. The story is not fun. I lived it through. Surely not sonething I find funny.
Kudos: 3





	Just for Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I need to add any more tags.
> 
> Yes it is from my life. Most of it at least.
> 
> If you don't like it just let it go, and go elsewhere. I do not wish to have any hate comments. Building ones are welcomed though.

It has been a pleasant lunch. As far as family get-togethers went. Nobody was dead yet, and the volume of the room haven’t reached shouting levels yet. Of course, nothing can last forever. 

The bubble was broken by our family's permanent communication skills by the table. It has to be known that the topics discussed at the table ranged from harmless day-to-day activities to more uncommon ones, such as rapes, rape culture, violence and murder. 

So it really shouldn’t have surprised me when the taking took another angle and landed on self-harm and cutting. But it did, as I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, instead focusing on my plate of food. Like normal, average people do by the table.

“They can’t even do it normally. They are stupid, if you do it, at least make sure they can’t stitch you back together,” said my brother, all matter of fact. As if he knew or researched the topic beforehand.

“They don’t know how to do it. They are too stupid to understand,” my mother added. They looked at each other. A deep understanding between them.

They don’t know. I thought. They don’t get it. It’s not necessarily the goal to kill oneself when cutting.

“ They are sick.” I lowered my voice to give my words weight.

“They surely are,” he snickered as if it was some joke and not a fact. 

“They just do it for attention,” mother added as the nail on the coffin. Like the ultimate truth.

“That’s not tr" I couldn’t finish the sentence before he interrupted me.

“Exactly, just for attention.”

There was a pause in our conversation as they both waited for me to state opinion. 

I couldn’t stop myself from glancing down onto my wrist. There sat a scar caused by my own nails opening and reopening the skin time after time for months by now. They never saw it. I never showed. If anyone seen it, they haven’t asked. Easier to be oblivious.

I surely haven’t sought anyone’s attention through it. Sometimes - all the time – was ashamed for doing it to myself. But had to do it. To divert the emotional pain to a physical one. To stop thinking, to feel free and in control for a few seconds. To deal with my shitty life and emotions the only way I could think of.

I felt for anyone in the same boat. Couldn’t understand them. No. I don’t know their reasons. Don’t know them. I can’t understand what brought them there, but I sympathise with each of them. I feel similar. 

But how could have I told them that I get it. That I know how I can get so low that physical pain is the only rope to climb out of that pit? That it's not something I get pleasure out of, just a way to feel human for a bit again? That it’s a sign of depression? They shouldn't judge but try to reach their hands out for the ones in need? They could see nothing even in front of their noses. There was no changing their minds from the set path.

Not even by me. Their own kin. No chance. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. 

“They just do it for attention,” I chocked out sarcastically and got up from the table.

No one saw my nails leaving moon-shaped marks on my wrist.


End file.
